


Curtain Call

by teasingyourtears



Category: Pitch Perfect (2012)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 16:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teasingyourtears/pseuds/teasingyourtears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The schedule for the downfall of the Posens; hardly a race against time.</p><p>Hardly.</p><p>Except they have to complete it within 12 hours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curtain Call

She kicks softly on the tip of her shoe, careful to only touch the side where suede meets reinforced rubber and just enough to make her notice. She does, looking down in time to catch the intended gaze before flicking her own back to the speaker.

It's right smack in early August and they're all almost drowning in midsummer's heat. She pulls at her buttoned-up collar, trying to ease non-existing breeze into the tight uniform the old Posen has forced her to wear.

Forced all of them to wear.

It is after all a solemn event and such occasions do call for proper orderliness and well, formality. The old man himself finally appears near the balcony and everyone stands. The front rows have their chins pointed high, almost angled 45 degrees towards Mr Posen; the rest simply stand and try to keep their knees from shaking.

“Keep still.” The taller one whispers, but sneaks over a piece of paper tissue anyway.

Usually, such occasions also call for all the Posens to gather at the eldest son's house. House could be an understatement but the namesakes prefer to keep it humble. Just in case.

“You're going to tell him, today.” The ending syllable makes her words sound like statement but her raised eyebrows suggests otherwise, a near-furtive signal that the taller one manages to catch.

“I try.”

And that's the end of their conversation. No one really knows if that's all they wanted to say to each other, or because Old Posen has started to speak.

 

*

The next words that tumble out his lips continue to echo in her ears. His lips are moving some more, now rapidly and almost with a hint of rare enthusiasm, but her ears only focus on those uttered before. The hair on the back of her arms stand still, catching and holding steadfast a blanket of heat against her skin.

The P tattoo near the back of her wrist now glistening under the sunlight.

She darts her eyes to the comrade standing diagonally from her -- a brunette man with wild eyes -- and sees him looking over. His lips remain pursed but she can hear his brainwork churning. His eyes only fill with more anxiety and worry as seconds fly by, his own forehead soon covers with perspiration.

Definitely not from the heat since he's amongst the privileged ones standing under shade. But his last name isn't Posen.

 

*

They're all marked on their arms – some at the back of their wrists, some by the shoulder, some under the elbow, others over their scars. Each almost telling a story (if they have one) but it all means the same.

Utmost loyalty and faithfulness to Justice and Morality.

If one would go around town and dare a venture, townsfolk would definitely tell them (albeit in the quietest of whispers) right in the eye that such justice and moral codes are synonymous to Posen. They hold the balance, their ancestors' faces are the ones moulded into the angled arch above the supreme court. Justice and morality are Posen.

No one really goes against that. Some did try – emphasis on try. And did.

She glances down at her tattoo, the one she received when she was a mere kid. 8? 7. Definitely 7. She feels some warm burst of air against the side of her head and she throws her gaze over. The blonde besides her exhales heavily through her nose, her own green eyes flicking down to her own tattoo at the base of her right thumb before flicking back to meet hers.

They both then look over to the brunette who has been watching them. This time, his head has lowered, his chin no longer at its usual 45. He can't meet their eyes anymore.

 

*

After the speech, everyone goes their separate ways. Almost everyone. The Posen offspring are -- of course, called into the larger room for “a meeting”. The blonde keeps her eyes on the doorway, straining as the door finally clicks to a close, the outside hustle-bustle vanishing along with her companion. And that's when she finally allows herself to blink.

Posens do not cry.

But her eyes are wet.

 

*

Old Posen sits – almost majestically – on his huge, lushly cushioned chair. His dull green eyes circling round the table, bouncing from one blonde to the other. It's relatively easy to tell if one is a Posen. The hair, the eyes, the overall make up of the person. Even their breathing pattern has been almost genetically locked down to detail.

“My precious children,” he speaks, his voice reverberating across the large room filled with expensive paintings and busts of important Posens.

Because not every Posen is valued. Posen is a valuable thing to have attached to your name but not every namesake gets its full privileges.

And so, everyone shudders.

 

*

“Aubrey.”

His eyes finally lands on one of the taller female blondes. She stills, her breath hitches as everyone else locks eyes with her. A handsome looking blonde who sits across from her darts his eyes towards old Posen before returning his focus to her. He lowers his chin ever so slightly. Almost a nod.

Almost an “It's okay” kind of nod.

“Aubrey.” And the room goes really quiet in that split second. He doesn't repeat his words. She silently stands up, forcing her body to turn so that she faces him.

Eye contact – that's the first thing they learn as a Posen.

Because one look and you can know everything about that person. And Posens are translucent. Not transparent – no, old Posen wouldn't want that, but translucent, yes.

“You've heard my speech. My words.”

“Yes, sir.”

He frowns, and everyone shudders again. Not her though, she stands her ground with fists clenched hidden against her sides. Old Posen lifts his hand and there are a few blinking of eyes, some shutting immediately as if to avoid seeing something. He scoffs, almost erring on a friendly chuckle if they dare dream, as he sweeps that hand across the room.

“In this room, no one calls me sir. You are all my children and grandchildren. Aubrey, tell me who you are.”

“I am my father's daughter.” Her voice still and steadfast -- oh her father would be so proud. If only color isn't already draining from his face the moment she mentioned him.

Old Posen chuckles. Even the elderly lady (Mrs Old Posen) seated next to him looks bewildered. “And who is your father?”

“My father, Walt Posen, is your eldest son.”

“Indeed. So that makes you?”

“Your granddaughter.”

“Good.” He rises, his actions not betraying his age at all as he walks smoothly towards Aubrey, stopping when he reaches behind her chair. The blonde blinks once before turning to face him again.

Eye contact.

“Try answering my first question again, Aubrey.”

“Yes, grandfather.”

“Good. Good girl.” And he does something else out of the norm.

He hugs her.

When he finally lets her go, the woman still remains frozen. Her eyes are wide open and her face sheet-white.

No one ever hugs her, not her parents, not her brother, no one.

Except.

 

*

“Are you happy with the match?” He asks, his hands not leaving her shoulders. Shock number 3 of the bizarre afternoon.

Being Posen means that one has to uphold the set of rules. It's unspoken, no one talks about it or learns about it. They just know. Almost in their DNA. Which is why old Posen only trusts his namesakes. Spouses married into the household never carry that name. The older generations almost carried out inbreeding but the resulting child was less than desirable -- at least according to their standards.

So they go through an extreme battery of tests to find the ideal partners for their offspring. And every Posen child should have their own by the age of 27.

Aubrey is 26, just shy of 27.

She's already late.

 

*

“Yes, grandfather.”

A lie - possibly, but she's learned to school her features to simply black and white answers. A trick every Posen has learned since the age of 2. Old Posen wouldn't want them to start learning too late, would he? But this trick – this trick of playing bluff in front of Old Posen and other honorable?

Only Aubrey and her generation would know.

One can tell, because when Francis Posen said the same thing last year, he was slaughtered on the spot.

“Good. Good girl. Tomorrow. You and him will get married tomorrow.”

And with that, the meeting is adjourned. No one dies tonight.

 

*

“I'm sorry.” He barely croaks out before grunting again. A fresh wave of pain surrounds his neck, threatening to break his air supply.

“Let him go, Beca.”

The man grunts once more before he is let go, crumbling to the floor in a heap. He can barely lift his head up to greet the two blonde newcomers and only offers a weak “Eh”. Beca dusts her hands and ambles over to the duo, choosing to sit right next to the female. Shoulders, arms and hips touching.

The blonde scoots even closer.

“How did it go - Is he for real?”

She takes a quick gander around the small room, her ears twitching as she tries to locate any humming or clicks. Nothing.

“Yes, Beca.” Her eyes darts down to the still whimpering figure lying on the floor in front of them. “I have to marry him.”

Almost with disgust.

“I'm sorry. I truly am.” He repeats, rolling over to face them, his bruised body doesn't allow him to sit as yet. “I truly had no idea those tests were for this, Aubrey. Please believe me.”

“Why should I?” Her fingers curl around the hilt of a hidden dagger stashed at the side of her boot.

“Because-” He pants. Beca did a good number on him. “You're my team and I love- I love Ash, okay? Ashley is the one I love.”

Beca scoffs. “Jesse, Jesse. I knew you're up to something when you stuff extra gummy bears into your pack.”

“I-”

“Ashley Jackson? That's whom you've been sneaking to all this time?”

The brunette stops moving, his grunts and whimpering also cease as he looks them in the eye (he tries – there are three pairs, all threatening to break every joint in his body).

“Yes.”

Beca nudges Aubrey in the rib. The blonde doesn't say anything; instead, she lugs her arm over the shorter woman's shoulders, pulling her in. Her other arm snakes around her waist.

“And you don't know anything about this?”

The kiss on the side of her head gives her the assurance she's been waiting since the start of the speech. Since those words. Still echoing in her ears but getting fainter.

“You don't have to whisper. I made sure this room is off limits.” The second male, the same handsome blonde in the meeting earlier, finally speaks up, standing up and walking over to Jesse. “Get up, you doofus. You could have told us earlier.”

“Luke.” He almost looks incredulous. “You should know I can't. I don't want them to do anything to Ashley. Not when she hasn't got a P on her yet.”

Aubrey and Beca halt their actions, wheeling around. Luke crosses his arms in front of his chest. Did he just say what he said?

“She's recruiting? Are you insane?” His collar is fisted in her hands once more and Jesse can almost smell blood from her lips.

 

*

“I've got a plan.”

It's almost 4 in the morning. Everyone gets up by 5 to get ready. Uniforms pressed, weapons cleaned and vehicles ready with engines roaring in the garage. Each team has at least one Posen, usually in the role of a leader, and they are small in number – usually 4 to 5.

Just enough to fit into a car.

Each of them is trained in weaponry mastery and tactical warfare. Of course they have to -- as perpetuators of the nation's laws and order, to bring justice to light and to coat the world with their morality.

 _Their morality_.

“What stupid plan do you have, Jesse?” Almost with disgust again. The bruised man moves back to his place near the wall, his eyes almost fearful. When Beca remains seated where she is, Aubrey's arms still tucked around her like a blanket, the man relaxes, shuffling forward back into the pool of light.

“Trust me, it's going to be really stupid but it's the only way. We-”

The chatter in the yard below suggests that they are no longer alone. Well, not as alone as they'd thought. Luke quickly moves over to the small window and peers down, just enough to see the housekeepers shuffling around with white furniture and white peonies.

Of course there are peonies.

He checks his watch – 04:15.

“You better finish your sentence fast, Swanson.”

Jesse gulps. “We're going to need other teams' help.”

* * *

 

 

04:45

The four of them are geared up by now; the wedding's not till later in the evening so everyone is expected to be at their positions as usual.

Jesse gives a slight nod to his team before rolling the engine, listening to the jeep roar into life as they pull out of the garage. Luke, who sits shotgun next to Jesse, punches in some coordinates and motions with two fingers towards the dense jungle ahead.

The base is located somewhere in the Northwest. No one really knows its exact locations except the Posens and their agents but even then – they can only bring you in by memory. Usually when outsiders go in, they rarely come back out.

 

04:55

The quartet passes by a small creek, and Jesse eases the vehicle to a gentle stop. Aubrey peeks out the polished window to the skies. It is brightening out but a few stars can still be seen.

“We're at eagle. You gave them the channel already?” Beca nods, holding out her radio as if for proof with a smirk on her face. “Okay. 4 minutes more to 5, lets get this rolling. Follow Jupiter.”

“This is Agent Beca Mitchell calling to all units. I repeat, Agent Beca to all units. We have a situation and we need help. Do you copy, over.”

The radio remains silent, so do their breaths as they wait.

 

04:56

“This is Agent Stacie Conrad. Unit Pandora. What situation do you have? Over.”

“This is Agent Donald Stanislaw. Unit Pangea. Please report coordinates. Over.”

 

04:57

“This is Agent Beca Mitchell. Unit Possum. We seek your assistance now. Follow Jupiter to eagle. Do you copy, over.”

“This is Agent Stacie Conrad, Wilco. Out.”

“This is Agent Donald Stanislaw, Wilco. Out.”

 

05:02

The four of them stay inside the jeep, their muscles flexed and eyes alert as a second jeep appears over the mound in the rearview mirror. It crosses the creek with ease and stops right behind their jeep. Beca frowns as she watches the doors to the jeep open and five fully-geared agents jump out, landing on the damp jungle ground softly.

The first to reach them is a tall Indian man with slick dark hair and thick-framed glasses. He salutes both Posens seated in the first jeep and gestures towards the remaining four who are surveying the clearing.

“Agent Donald Stanislaw, reporting for duty. What's the emergency, Agent Mitchell?”

“North Star.” Aubrey says simply.

Color drains slightly from Donald's face at her words and he clears his throat to ease whatever is mounting up his gut. His eyes flick towards Luke and Jesse, as if asking for reconfirmation and the two men nod in kind.

“North Star,” he finally repeats, his fingers gripping the handle of his gun. Aubrey cocks her head over to the rest of his team and he stands attention immediately, wheeling around to walk over when a third roar crushes the quiet around them.

Beca darts her eyes to the rearview mirror once more and spies a third jeep coming into the clearing from another direction. Through the mirror, she can see another brunette behind the wheels with a smirk on her face.

Stacie Conrad.

Donald's voice draws their attention again and Aubrey snaps her gaze right back at him. The tall man gulps.

“I shall go and brief my team now.”

Just as he leaves the side of their jeep, Stacie appears. The same smirk etched on her face as she surveys the occupants in the vehicle. She doesn't salute like Donald did, merely hitching her head at them as a sort of greeting.

“Hey people.” A second woman steps in place next to the brunette, her pink hair hidden under a maroon beret, “so, why do you need us?”

“North Star.” The smiles from the two women's faces wipe off immediately. Beca rolls her eyes and repeats, “North Star. Situation, North Star.”

Stacie exhales heavily, exchanging glances with her teammate before turning back to Beca. Her voice timid, the balloon of confidence around her earlier deflated.

“You sure?” The corners of her lips curl downwards further and the creases on her brows grow deeper when all four of them nod in response. “You guys are crazy. Is this about your wedding?”

Luke checks his watch again. 05:10.

“We don't have much time, Stace. We won't let that wedding happen. We won't let them ride our heads anymore.”

“This is crazy. North Star? Just to stop a wedding?” She crosses her arms and turns around to face her teammate. “It's okay, CR. Go and join Donald's team to secure the area.”

Beca examines the brunette's face, the frown still present but the lips no longer as determined as before.

“It's not just to stop that wedding. It's to stop them from ordering our lives around anymore.”

“But you're wearing a P on your arm, aren't you?” Stacie continues to challenge, “And your names end with Posen, right – Luke? Aubrey?”

“I've never been more ashamed to be called a Posen when Francis died, Stacie.”

Luke nearly spins around to look at his sister. Nearly. Posens do things with grace and dignity. So he merely nearly spins around.

Still, he's surprised.

Beca's immediate action though is to grab her hand, gripping it tight.

 

05:12

Donald returns, worry on his face as he surveys the awkward silence amongst the group. Stacie simply shakes her head, muttering a soft “North Star, roger that” before stalking away to join her team.

“Perimeter's secured. What's next?”

It's Luke's turn to smirk. He throws the door open and jumps right out, heading to the back of the jeep. He motions for Donald's assistance and the latter climbs onto the back as well, his gun slug across his back.

“Ready?” They toss open the black canvas covering the boot, revealing stacks of silver hard cases.

“What the heck, Luke?”

The blonde smiles again, panting slightly as he drags one of the bigger sized cases to the edge of the clearing.

“I've been working hard in the lab. Say hi to my baby.”

With a push of a button on the handle, the case pops open and a weird maze of shining liquid pours right out, encircling a length of the perimeter with a 4 feet width. It starts building and churning, rising higher and higher till it reaches mid-height of the tallest trees around them.

It then solidifies.

“What on earth-” Even Beca's nearly lost for words. Luke gestures for them to stand at the other side of the newly erected wall, outside the secured perimeter. He waves.

“Can you see me?”

“Of course not, you idiot.” Aubrey steps hard on Jesse's foot for his gibe. The man howls in response.

“Well, come on back. I'll exchange places with you.” He waves again and they're in awe. Almost. “This is liquid pandenium. I've engineered it in a way that it can form a suitable fortress for us. Come on Donald, get your men to help me set up.”

“Is it bulletproof?” Beca asks, her eyes trained on the wall. Without waiting for a reply, she fishes her revolver from her waist and shoots at the wall. The bullet sticks right into the metal and Stacie gasps as the wall literally eats and absorbs the metal bud into itself.

 

05:28

The doorless fort is now ready and Luke makes everyone take a pill that allows them to go through the walls without harm.

“You sure this is not harmful?” A stocky man, slightly older than Beca with curly hair shoots Luke a skeptic look, rolling the pill between his index finger and thumb.

“Of course. Just take it, Bumper.”

He does, his face turning pale green at the taste before shaking his head to rid of the sensation. “So, what's next?”

This has become the favorite question amongst Team Pangea and Team Pandora, always directed at the leading Team Possum. Three teams, all fourteen of them.

No one ever talks about North Star back at the Base. A term coined by Francis whose teammates and himself have envisioned a future where Posens no longer run their lives. It's a taboo – obviously, but everybody knows about it, just not in detail. Not as well as those who have got their hands on Francis' plans.

The sacrifice he made to ensure those he trusts would get them.

The gunshot still echoed in her heart as Aubrey watched her older brother crumple into a pool of blood, pearls of crimson dripping off the blade that belongs to Old Posen before he wiped it clean with Francis' shirt. His team was never seen around the Base after that.

No one questioned.

Jesse clears his throat and gathers all the attentive eyes upon himself. He fishes a piece of document from his pack and surveys the people standing in front of him.

“I- I guess now's the time for me to tell you guys what the objectives are. Aubrey and I are definitely not getting married. That's sort of goal number 1-”

“I knew it!” Stacie's anger flaring up again as she takes a step forward, her eyes accusatory. Beca instantly dashes in front of Aubrey, her arms extended as she meets the tall brunette in the eye.

_One more step and I'll end you._

“Beca, if we're on Operation North Star, why are you still so protective over Aubrey?”

Beca quickly shushes the murmuring with a quick glare before rounding on Stacie. “I'm not letting anyone hurt her. Not even you. And I'm tired of being controlled by the Posens and their rules. Aren't you tired, Stace – aren't you?”

Stacie bites down on her lower lip, her eyes flicking to Donald. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

 

05:32

“Goal number 2: destroy the Base and overthrow the Posen rule to establish a new world order. Luke and Aubrey have already given their consent. Kona, all that's left is your word.”

A Pan Asian steps forward, her jet-black locks flowing down, framing her face and making her look taller than she already is. Whilst most (almost every one, really) Posens are born with blonde hair and green eyes, there are situations when the ideal partner is someone from outside the clan and of a different ethnicity. The resulting child is not discriminated, of course.

But they do lose one or two more of the already limited privileges.

“I'm in.”

 

05:40

“Okay, what we are about to do has failed numerous times. Okay fine, I've exaggerated. North Star has never succeeded, okay? So we would all need to gear up for the vicious battle ahead. The wedding's at 1830 hours so everything shall end by then.”

He smiles at the nods – some with enthusiasm, others with slight reluctance. Bumper gulps under Beca's scrutiny and moves his head with more fervor.

“Great. Luke will now hook us up with some of his inventions. He-”

“Check it out, people!” The blonde hollers from the top of the jeep again, gesticulating almost excitedly. “Here Benji, catch this.”

A lanky man with dark brown curls grunts as he catches a small silver case thrown his way. He flicks the lid open and black liquid immediately surrounds and encases him. He screams at first, out of fear and surprise, but slowly gives in to the warm liquid. It wraps around his torso, arms, legs and neck, eating away his uniform. Once it completes its encasement, it stops flowing and solidifies just like the liquid pandenium did.

Only this time, when it's done, it's a mere soft but leathery fabric. Luke smiles at the young man encouragingly, grabbing a pair of titanium hilts from the back of the jeep. He tosses it over carelessly but Benji manages to catch it after an expert dive.

Both Stacie and Beca raise their eyebrows, impressed.

Benji grins and turns to face Luke when he freezes at the sight of the gun barrel pointing right at him. The smile has long faded from Luke's face as he pulls the trigger, and Benji watches his life fly past with the bullet speeding towards him.

Only for it to drop to the ground with a light thud the moment it reaches within a foot's radius from him. Beads of perspiration form and join in a flow down his sideburns as he looks to Luke for a probable explanation. Did he just try to kill me?

“Sorry Benji, I had to show everyone. That suit, made of liquid zacium will protect you from most firepower. I've calibrated each one according to your specs and capabilities such that it'll enhance whatever you're good at, having assumed you are all in – of course.”

When no one joins in his enthusiasm as he expected, Luke sighs and beckons over another man from Donald's team. “Don't be scared, Wes.”

Wes inches over, jumping when Luke finally lays his hands on him. When he opens his case, a pool of navy blue liquid floods his entire body, leaving him in a ninja suit. Luke crosses his arms and ambles over to the suit-up Wes.

“Fight me.”

Even Beca Mitchell would not pick a fight with Luke Posen if she can help it. If anything, Posens are trained to fight to kill. Hardly any defense – they're usually on the offensive. Luke Posen is another matter. His first time in the ring and his opponent laid in hospital for three months.

He was 7.

Wes, with a balaclava covering his mouth, shakes his head furiously. The usually quiet man even gestures and flails his arms in refusal. The rest have already taken a few steps back (even Beca, although she remains rooted in front of Aubrey, arms still extended), forming a circle around the two men.

Luke takes another step forward, and without warning, throws a high kick towards Wes' face. The blue ninja does a back somersault to avoid the hit, landing on both feet perfectly like a cat. Luke does another series of flying kicks (his specialty) and Wes successfully avoids them all. He then suddenly bends down and does a rear-leg roundhouse kick, hitting Luke in his abdomen and sending him flying into the erected wall.

“Luke!”

The blonde man laughs, waving his sister off as he slowly rises and dusts himself. Wes, wild-eyed, rushes over to ensure the injury's not deep.

“So this means I can now hold my breath longer in water if I'm suited up?” Kona yells from the jeep, holding out a case with her name on it. Luke smiles and nods.

“Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kona here is a character taken from Hawaii 5 O.  
> Just in case you're wondering.


End file.
